Cominius and Lartius stand bare.

 

May these same instruments, which you profane,

Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall

I' th' field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be

Made all of false-fac'd soothing!

When steel grows soft as the parasite's silk,

Let him be made an overture for th' wars!

No more, I say! For that I have not wash'd

My nose that bled, or foil'd some debile wretch –

Which, without note, here's many else have done –

You [shout] me forth

In acclamations hyperbolical,

As if I lov'd my little should be dieted

In praises sauc'd with lies.

COM.

Too modest are you;

More cruel to your good report than grateful

To us that give you truly. By your patience,

If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you

(Like one that means his proper harm) in manacles,

Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it known,

As to us, to all the world, that Caius Martius

Wears this war's garland; in token of the which,

My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,

With all his trim belonging; and from this time,

For what he did before Corioles, call him,

With all th' applause and clamor of the host,

Martius Caius Coriolanus! Bear

Th' addition nobly ever!

 

Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums.

 

OMNES.

Martius Caius Coriolanus!

COR.

I will go wash;

And when my face is fair, you shall perceive

Whether I blush or no; howbeit, I thank you.

I mean to stride your steed, and at all times

To undercrest your good addition

To th' fairness of my power.

COM.

So, to our tent;

Where, ere we do repose us, we will write

To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,

Must to Corioles back. Send us to Rome

The best, with whom we may articulate

For their own good and ours.

LART.

I shall, my lord.

COR.

The gods begin to mock me. I, that now

Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg

Of my lord general.

COM.

Take't, 'tis yours. What is't?

COR.

I sometime lay here in Corioles

At a poor man's house; he us'd me kindly.

He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;

But then Aufidius was within my view,

And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity. I request you

To give my poor host freedom.

COM.

O, well begg'd!

Were he the butcher of my son, he should

Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

LART.

Martius, his name?

COR.

By Jupiter, forgot!

I am weary, yea, my memory is tir'd.

Have we no wine here?

COM.

Go we to our tent.

The blood upon your visage dries, 'tis time

It should be look'd to. Come.

 

Exeunt.

 

 

[Scene X]

A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

 

AUF.

The town is ta'en!

[1.] SOLD.

'Twill be deliver'd back on good condition.

AUF.

Condition?

I would I were a Roman, for I cannot,

Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition?

What good condition can a treaty find

I' th' part that is at mercy? Five times, Martius,

I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me;

And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter

As often as we eat. By th' elements,

If e'er again I meet him beard to beard,

He's mine, or I am his. Mine emulation

Hath not that honor in't it had; for where

I thought to crush him in an equal force,

True sword to sword, I'll potch at him some way,

Or wrath or craft may get him.

[1.] SOLD.

He's the devil.

AUF.

Bolder, though not so subtle. My valor's poison'd

With only suff'ring stain by him; for him

Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary,

Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,

The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice,

Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up

Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst

My hate to Martius. Where I find him, were it

At home, upon my brother's guard, even there,

Against the hospitable canon, would I

Wash my fierce hand in 's heart. Go you to th' city,

Learn how 'tis held, and what they are that must

Be hostages for Rome.

[1.] SOLD.

Will not you go?

AUF.

I am attended at the cypress grove. I pray you

('Tis south the city mills) bring me word thither

How the world goes, that to the pace of it

I may spur on my journey.

[1.] SOLD.

I shall, sir.

 

[Exeunt.]

 

 

Act II,

[Scene I]

Enter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the people, Sicinius and Brutus.

 

MEN. The augurer tells me we shall have news to- night.

BRU.